“Which would never have happened if you hadn’t sat at my table at Taryz Teahouse.”
Technically true.
“Breaking Ulmar and Indora’s budding alliance will leave Hreban without his source of arms,” Reynald said. “But the mercenaries didn’t have to be a part of it. You could’ve kept quiet, and nobody would’ve ever known. Instead, you stuck your neck out for people you’ve never met.”
He was right. I could think of half a dozen ways to quietly shatter that link, the most obvious of which would be writing a letter to Dreantia about what her niece was doing. Now Dreantia would find out when Filderon’s mercenaries failed to show up, leaving her inspector to discover the contraband.
I sighed. “Yes, preventing the slaughter at Falcon Point didn’t have to be a part of it. It might’ve been better if it wasn’t. There is a risk that the Magnars will be found out, and that may draw attention to us. Indora will survive this mess—she’s too shrewd—and she will be looking to get even. Especially since we had the warehouse raided. Right now, she doesn’t know we exist. After Filderon dies, who knows?”
He gave me a long glance. “Why did you do it?”
“My father was a soldier. When I was a child, he would leave to fight in wars. I was young, so I didn’t always understand where he went, but I remember being scared that he might not come back. His death would’ve crushed my little world.”
Trying to put childhood anxiety into words was surprisingly hard.
“I’m not sure if we can stop Hreban and prevent the civil war. I will do everything I can, I just don’t know if it will be enough. But I can save these people today. I’m still worried about the consequences, but was it even a choice?”
“No,” he said. “Not for you. Although some people would’ve let them die and never lost sleep over it.”
“I’ve barely gotten any sleep in the last few days. I can’t afford to lose any more.”
Reynald studied me for a long moment. “Let me tell you a secret that everyone knows. Mercenary brokers like to talk about rules and traditions, but they are soldiers for hire. They serve the coin and pray to the Hireling. The very Aspect they worship sells his services for money. If they were truly fond of rules and traditions, they would choose a lord or a city and swear their allegiance. Instead, they work for the highest bidder.”
True.
“When I convinced Gort to aid us, he told Filderon he wasn’t interested. His name isn’t on any roster. Nobody will suspect the Magnars, and even if they do, nothing will come of it. No matter how connected Filderon is, no one will risk their neck to avenge him. He will be dead. Do you know what a dead mercenary is worth?”
“Two boots and a sword?” Gort said this once in the books.
“Their boots are garbage, but yes. You can take his sword so you will have a spare. That’s it. And if someone chooses to make an issue of Filderon’s death, I will take care of it.”
He said it in a very final way.Don’t worry about it, I will handle it.And he would. Reynald didn’t make empty promises.
“You have me, Maggie,” he said. “I don’t know the future, but I know the present, and I’ve decided to walk this path with you. As long as you will have me by your side, I won’t allow anyone to harm you.”
The most precious commodity in Kair Toren—the trust of Reynald Karis. I finally had it. Not for now, not conditionally, but for however long it took.
I’d thought I had to deliver the contraband iron to earn it. Instead, it was saving the eighty mercenaries that did it. The deadliest blademaster in the city would lend me his sword. Now I just had to decide what to do with it.
I had worked so hard for this moment. We’d scored a hit against Hreban, we stopped the rebellion and the needless loss of life, and we’d prevented the death of the mercenaries. The Magnars should be able to handle Filderon. The next pivotal event in the storyline wouldn’t happen for months. Plenty of time to prepare.
I should’ve been relieved. Instead the unease wrapped around me like a heavy, smothering blanket.
Reynald squinted at the roof terrace of the Taryz. “The Conquerors are out in force.”
On the terrace several people in armor and red tabards sat around a table. One of them waved their arms. The sound didn’t reach this far, but it looked like they were laughing.
“I had no idea they drank tea,” Reynald said.
“Well, blood of their enemies does get old after a while.”
He cracked a razor-sharp smile. He was really handsome today, all edge and green eyes.
On the terrace, one of the Conquerors jumped up. The others pulled her down back into her seat.
“Have you seen the Borses’ Rageglow?” I asked.
“I have.”
